Wasted Words
by Banger1897
Summary: Follow the untold stories from survivors of wastelands across the continent. A gritty retelling of some new and familiar characters and how they came to be. It's a wonder how any of them ever lived. Rated T for violence, mature themes and profanity.
1. Mr Anwar

_**Inspirded by Max Brooks and his World War Z, I have taken on the world of Fallout in the eyes of those who lived through the horror.  
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_**You may recognize some of the characters. Some chose not to give their names but it's not hard to pick them out. Some are made up characters but all have a story to tell.**_

_**Please R/R.  
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_My name is Bodie Dober. Three years ago I was sitting in a cafe reading the paper that told the story of a family who held off feral ghouls in New York for 8 months before anyone rescued them. They ran out of ammo in the 6__th__ week. They used whatever they could find in their small suburban house to fend off horde after horde that ascended on them. Their perseverance and unwillingness to be torn apart in front of their loved ones kept them all alive. _

_Their story was on page 11. That day it was the return of electricity to parts of Los Angeles that took the front page._

_That got me thinking. How many stories of courage and heroism were lost on the last pages? How can we learn from our mistakes if the survivors recounts are lost because our interest is elsewhere?_

_I couldn't get a good night sleep for weeks. Finally, my girlfriend told me to do something about it if I was bothered so much. _

_I picked up a small pad of paper and a pen and sent a letter to a man I knew who acted as a historian for the war days before nuclear winter fell upon the world. _

_When several more weeks went by I assumed he wasn't interested in my idea but just when I thought I should give up, a letter arrived for me. He wanted to meet the very next morning at a small saloon in a settlement between us both. _

_I brought my little pad of paper and my pen and kissed my girlfriend that morning when I left. It took nearly 2 hours to walk to the neighbouring settlement but finally I made it and was thrilled to see my guest had arrived before me and sat patiently waiting. The saloon was dark and smelled of urine. Hardly a place I envisioned to carry out this interview. _

_I greeted Mr. Anwar with a hand shake and he offered me a seat across from him. _

_The barman brought us each over a beer despite the early morning hour. I accepted it graciously but given that the barman was a ghoul, I was a little reluctant to drink. _

_I sat and Mr. Anwar began to speak._

__-_XXX__-__  
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People don't like to read up on the history that started it all. We're perfectly content with simply surviving however, there is much that can be learned about surviving if we look to our past.

I grew up in these wastelands.

I know of little else but I read and educate myself as much as I can. The irony is the world has always been a wasteland if you can see the metaphor. Before our war there were many wars. Every war had its reason, but our war simply became 'the war.'

In today's day and age it's always kill or be killed but that's been true since the day of our ancestors. I am sure the war days are not over. Life will carry on and sure enough, in time, another will break out for reasons only justified by either side fighting in it.

We have exploited people and resources for thousands of years.

The day humanity evolved into the materialistic creatures we are was the day we shaped the future of the Earth. That was the day the Earth stopped being nature and became a mine.

All the signs were ignored. Petrol and other fossil fuels were never a renewable resource so why did our ancestors allow our world to go so unchanged and inevitably end in total war?

It's quite pathetic really. There were those who tried to curve our path into a more environmentally friendly industry but it all came down to money.

The world was a ticking time bomb. The less resources available meant costs were going up. Costs go up and the rich get richer and the poorer get poorer. Soon however, the richer began to get poorer and when you have that much desperation, of course fighting is going to break out.

It's no wonder humanity went to shit. Desperation does things to people. Entire countries were getting frantic. People were dying for reasons long since forgotten since the Dark Ages. It wasn't the third world countries at the time anymore. Countries that had once been global super powers were suddenly turned upside down by the crushing costs to keep an economy alive.

Two major super powers refused to fall to such feudal times. Of course that was the good ol' USA and China. We all know how that ended up.

Yet, why is it today we still haven't learned? Faced with near extinction we still seek to save ourselves and let others die in the wake. We insist on a currency and see civilization grow once more as the rich get richer but out here in the wastes, the poor just die.

/Has there ever been such a time when humanity faced extinction like it does now?/

It's funny you mention that.

There was a time long ago that a plague threatened the world. Literature is hard to come by telling of such times. I am sure there were many moments in history where our existence hung in the balance.

What I actually find funny is that this really isn't the first 'extinction' as you say. Millions of years ago the dinosaurs were wiped out with an asteroid.

/Why is that relevant?/

We didn't need an asteroid. We were content bringing about our own destruction. We created the asteroid.

What does that tell you about the human race? I for one think we are doomed. We were not made to be a species that lasts. If there really is a God then I sure as hell hope he found joy in the failed experiment known as humanity.


	2. Anonymous

_Mr. Arnwar later introduced me to a man who he believed would interest to the story. He warned me of the man's cruel nature and suggested I let the man talk without any negative interjection. I meet with him the very afternoon in the same saloon. _

_Once again my guest arrives before me and is waiting._

_As before the ghoul barman brings us each a beer and I ignore it as I did the last._

_The man does not introduce himself. He explains to me that he wishes to keep his name anonymous for his own safety. I accept the terms._

__-XXX-__

Life as a raider was pretty fucking sweet. I could rape and kill whomever I wished and so long as my morals were suppressed, I was loving it all. My mother was a whore in a place called Rivet City. I am sure you've heard of it. I didn't know my father. Probably some loser traveler who had enough caps to pay my mom for a half descent blowjob and a five second fuck.

I left the moment I could. Got picked up by a wastelander who took pity on a 10 year old wandering the wastes alone. Our partnership didn't last long.

One night we were camped near a old outdoor cinema screen when a band of raiders came and beat him to death with god only knows what. I should have been scared and ran but I was hard as fuck.

I put up a damn good fight and despite having the shit kicked out of me too, they didn't kill me. The leader of that group even offered to let me live if I joined up with them.

Truth be told it was the best decision I ever made. Like I said, it was all fun and games. Our group was one of the largest and we were well known for our terrorizing in the wastes.

I remember this one time we took out a caravan. Three Brahmin and I think it was about 6 guards plus the three salesmen.

We lay waste to the all. One of the guards was this fine looking brunette. We didn't kill her. After we killed the others we tied her to one of the Brahmin and brought them all back with us. We left the 5 others for the Deathclaws to munch on.

That bitch sure could suck a cock. It was a shame she tried to run so many times. She had a good go one time. We were too lazy to go chasing after her so our best marksman put a bullet in the back of her head from about 700m and that was that.

That's how it was. Year after year it was the same routine. It never got old.

The only thing I didn't like was having to do what someone else told me to do. I didn't want sloppy seconds anymore. I wanted the fresh meat.

I off'd our leader. It was so fucking easy. Slit his throat one night and took the position for myself. No one ever raised a fuss.

/Were you ever worried someone would take you out too?/

Sure I was! It happened too.

This little punk prick. Kid hadn't even been with us a month when he tried to pull the very same stunt.

I woke up of course. It's impossible to sneak up on me. One good fist to the face put him down. I dragged his ass to our cooking pit and chained him to the stake there. We let our dogs rip him apart.

To this day I don't feel even the slightest bit of guilt for that.

/Do you feel guilty about anything?/

Not really, no. I wouldn't say it's guilt but maybe a bit of regret.

/What happened?/

I'm getting to it! This bitch I took on as my own personal sex slave kind of softened me up a bit. Of course I'd fuck her brains out on a daily basis but I also talked to her. She was a good listener. She was a good fuck too. Let me place her any way I wanted and put it anywhere.

/I cough./

Anyways, I got a bit too comfortable around her. Trusted her too much. I untied her one night so we could cuddle after I nailed her.

I woke up with a knife buried 6 inches into my shoulder. Bitch had stabbed me. Played me all along and waited for the moment to strike.

Our relationship couldn't really survive through and attempted murder.

She was fair game to the boys at that point. I guess I kind of fed her to the wolves. I told them to fuck her till she died. They did just that.

/So how did you end up here with people trusting you?/

I had enough. I was getting old. It was just a matter of time before one attempt on my life by my own guys was a success and I wouldn't go that way.

I came here and kept most of my old life a secret. Of course rumours follow you but so long as I don't bother anyone here, I get left alone too.

Plus, I have a damn good shot and when other raiders do come a knocking, I go a shooting.

I like it here. It's a quiet life for a retired raider like me. I still have my fun.

/He pauses to look over his shoulder at a young strawberry blonde haired woman and smiles in her direction./

The girls here love me. Those who pass through get shown quite the time when they stay in our little town.

/Do you ever miss it?/

Every day. There were no consequences for what I did. There is no justice or law out there. You can kill a man and everyone laughs it off.

I love this world.

I wouldn't change a thing about it.

Well, maybe make the girls even hotter.

I have it pretty good now though. Not many of my kind make it to retirement. I may be the longest living raider of all times. I should be proud of that.

Now, if you'll excuse me. That bitch is waiting for me to stick it in her.

/He gets up from the table and links arms with a young woman with short red hair. Together they walk upstairs. I chug down the drink I was reluctant to even sip within seconds and take the rest of the day off writing./


	3. Ret Captain Snider

_I arrive in a small community of derelict houses. It's easy to envision what this place looked like before the bombs fell. Bare trees and burned out cars litter the landscape. On the corner is the nicest of all the homes._

_I walk up the ramp to the house and the door opens before I knock. A man in his mid thirties greets me with an aging smile. He welcomes me into his home where he already has a pot of coffee brewing. We sit at his dining room table._

_Ret. Captain James Snider had been a Vertibird pilot with the Enclave for 6 years. A decorated man who has since retired at a young age on account of his disability._

-XXX-

If it's alright with you I don't really want to speak about my time in the Enclave. All that patriotism nonsense about why I joined and blah blah blah. I doubt that's the story you came for anyways. You want to hear about that last mission.

We were flying the usual recon mission over the DC area. My co-pilot and I had flown nearly 400 missions between the two of us and we were both experienced pilots and ground soldiers as well.

That day we had a few Int. guys with us. You know, the smart fuckers who think their shit don't stink. They were taking some pictures of the land so we could update the maps back at home base.

Old school shit. Didn't have satellites no more to do it all for us.

I still can't believe how those next few seconds carried out. Such a fluke shot to nail the fuel pump. Vertibirds are a durable machine that can take a beating but any aircraft's Achilles heel will be its fuel pump. I didn't think we had an issue until one of the guys in the back yelled, FIRE.

I called it a tactical forced landing in my debrief. Reality was I dropped that machine as fast I could before the flames took us all. Pretty much slammed it into the ground.

Somehow I managed to put it down between a few buildings but I soon learned I had put us down in the exact kill zone.

That's when I realized we had been attacked by a group of mercenaries. Those Talon Company assholes. Pretty ballsy move to bring down and Enclave Vertibird I mean, we didn't have any rough and tough that time but usually I carried a section of infantry. Talon Company just got lucky.

I knew things were going to be rough when I realized we left with far less weaponry than we should have. We were taking on heavy fire and the aircraft was burning.

Of course we had to get out but that put us right out in the open. That's when we lost the first two Int. Officers, Creary and Leeroy. That's when I also realized both my legs were broken from the crash. I owe my life to my co-pilot, Jens. He dragged me out and across the road while we took incoming fire but we made it.

On the other side we made a little CCP.

/CCP?/

Oh, sorry. Casualty collection point. Where you regroup and see whose alive and who isn't.

I was hurt pretty bad. Jens was just fine apart from a few minor cuts and bruises. We had two more Int. guys left and the other two were left out sprawled on the road for Talon Company target practice.

We put up a half descent defense for a while figuring help would soon be on the way. We had sent out our distress signal just in time and our bird still had a tracking system.

Ha! To this day the highers still defend their delay in response to save us was on account of the lack of knowledge of where we were but I know what really took them. They assumed we were dead. I don't even think that group who found us even knew we were out there. It was just luck they happened to come by.

/How long were you out there?/

Four days. It took four fucking days of holding that position with barely any ammo. We didn't remain in the street of course. Jens managed to find a little alcove where we could wait out with some cover. When we all climbed up he destroyed any means to access us.

I think that's why the Talon guys eventually gave up trying to come get us. We were too covered and they'd have to cross into the open to get us.

They didn't have any superior fire power either, just small arms shit. Add to that we conserved our ammo. Only shot at what we could hit.

By the fourth day I was barely alive. My legs were so badly broken and without medical treatment soon I knew I was going to die.

It wasn't even an hour before that group on the foot patrol came through that the Talon got one more of us. Jens took a ricochet in the abdomen. It was a fluke shot that punctured his spleen causing him to bleed out. There was nothing we could do.

I owe that man my life. I still go over once a year on the anniversary of his death and visit his wife and daughter. Nice family. Jens was a good man. He shouldn't have died. We should have been rescued sooner.

/Is that why you left the Enclave?/

Well, that and what good is a pilot without his legs? They had to amputate them both above the knee. Docs couldn't do a thing to save them. I still count myself lucky to be alive though.

They offered me an office job but I was too wound up. Too angry from being stuck out there and forgotten. Nothing really came of it all. I was honourably discharged and sent on my way.

/Captain Snider moves back from the table and wheels himself over to the counter to pour us another cup of coffee each./

I don't pity myself. It's not easy to be handicapped in the wastes. It's actually a real pain in the ass. I feel like an inconvenience. A few buddies in the neighbourhood came over and helped build the ramp into my house. My parting gift from the Enclave was this chair. I guess I am pretty lucky to have it.

Nowadays I kind of just keep to myself. Those I flew with have either been killed on missions or we simply fell out of touch.

Life after the service for a wounded warrior isn't a glorious one. I struggle on a daily basis with anger, suicide and depression. The last few months have been aright though.

Jens really keeps me company and gives me something to live for.

/Snider whistles. A rather large black dog emerges from the other room. He appears in high spirits despite being rather mangy and flea bitten./

This is Jens. Neighbour found him out in the wastes and brought him over thinking I could use a little companionship. Named him after my co pilot. Still saving my life.


	4. Susan Lancaster

**A/N – Not sure why the reviews are not showing up. Kind of strange if you ask me. Maybe it's a bug and we'll be fixed in time. Nonetheless thanks for the kind words. I am always open to suggestions.**

_Susan Lancaster is a well off young woman. She resides in Tenpenny Tower where she considers herself to be somewhat of a socialite. We meet in the __Cafe Beau Monde__ to begin our chat._

-XXX-

I don't know what the other residents might tell you about me but whatever shit they say, it's not true. Alright, I admit I was a slaver but I am not proud of those times. Anything I did, I did because I had to survive.

/Is that how you justify it?/

You sound like everyone else. Why is slavery such a bad thing? Those who are inferior in survival deserve to be used in order to support the higher beings of this world.

If you think about it, they should be thanking us. We provided our slaves with shelter, food, clothing. All the essentials of life. All we asked of them is a bit of hard labour.

So maybe the work was tough but someone had to do it and it wasn't going to be me.

But I really don't want to talk about all that.

/How did you end up here?/

Again, whatever rumours you have heard, it's not true. Don't think I haven't heard the stories of me killing someone. I could never do that.

/I actually hadn't heard that./

Oh, well ... it's not true anyways. I just decided to leave. Paradise Falls, that's where I came from, was a disgusting place to live. I knew I deserved better. I had made my money so it was time to move on. That's when I came here.

/How do the other residents feel about your former life?/

I don't think they care. Anything they say about me is simply because their jealous of what I have. What's the old saying? Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful.

/Do you ever leave the tower?/

Why would I? Everything I could ever want is right here. I have it pretty good. The other residents enjoy my company.

/Is everyone friendly here?/

You could say that. I think I am more liked then most. It's not my fault if husband's eyes wander. Wait, can you edit that out?

/Sure./

Thanks.

/Do you ever get lonely?/

Never. I have enough going on here to keep me occupied for a lifetime.

/What's your view on those struggling out in the wastes?/

Let them struggle. They are struggling for a reason. If they are meant to die then that's that. Not like I can do anything about it.

/There seems to be a lot of empty rooms in this place. Don't you feel all the space is wasted?/

Not at all. We don't want the everyday riff raff in this place. Tenpenny Tower has to maintain some prestige in times like this. We have to hold onto our relics.

I know you're probably thinking I'm cold but I'm a realist. It's natural selection. Only the strong and worthy survive. If you don't have a bit of a cut throat attitude then you won't make it. It's not about helping others, it's about helping yourself.

Just a few days ago someone showed up suggesting we let a band of ghouls live here. Can you imagine that? Ghouls! Disgusting, foul creatures that walk this Earth wanting equal rights. I can't believe it. How can they expect to be equals with us?

I have to draw the line somewhere. I draw it with them. Them and those ghastly super mutants. Come to think of it, anything that isn't human doesn't deserve to walk this Earth. Frankly I think the Enclave should just go about eradicating all of them.

/Are you suggesting a genocide?/

Is that what it's called? Do you really care if we kill off all the mutants and ghouls? I mean, they are plagued things. They aren't people.

/They were once./

But they're not anymore now are they?

/Are you talking about the feral ghouls and aggressive mutants?/

Is there really a difference? Personally, I don't see the difference. They're all gross to me so wipe them out. I think the world would be a better place without them. Tell you what. If all of them are one day killed off, I'll leave this tower.

/Well thank you Ms. Lancaster./

Don't you want to hear about my views on the conflict in the west?

/I'm sorry I really must be going. I think I have all I need./


	5. Mrs Carmen

_I was told of a story of a woman who lived well off into the wastes. Finding her would be no easy feat but those whom I encountered during my exploration to find interesting people to interview all told me to track down this woman. _

_None would explain to me why of course. All of them simply snickered and said she's a real topic of interest. _

_It took me quite some time to find this woman. After days of aimless searching I thought this was just some practical joke the people of the DC area told stupid strangers looking to uncover too much. _

_One lead would send me North, another would send me West. It was looking to be a miss when finally I found the small cottage by a radiated lake everyone described to me. _

_My knock at the door was answered by an elderly woman I was a little disappointed. What interesting story could this old woman tell? I tell her who I am and what I am doing. She tells me she is Mrs. Diana Carmen. That's when I heard the crashing and banging noises behind her. When I asked what had it been, she simply replied,_

_-XXX-_

Oh, that's my husband. Please come in. Would you like something to drink?

/I politely decline and sit before her in the kitchen./

So what is it I can do for you? I am one of the oldest survivors of the wasteland. I owe my life to playing it safe and keeping a low profile.

/A low profile? How is it so many spoke of you?/

I don't really know. My family and I had been in a vault in the south for most of my childhood but emerged when I was sixteen. It was quite a stunning place to live relatively untouched by the falling bombs or nuclear fallout. Or so we thought.

My family and some of the other vault dwellers got on board with establishing some farm land. We thrived working together and supporting the village we established. Even some of the survivors that had migrated over the years helped us with trading goods. Some even chose to stay.

It couldn't have been a better upbringing.

/So what changed all that?/

Over time, the food we had been eating started to take a toll on our bodies. When my parents caught on, they stopped us from eating the fresh vegetables and other meats and kept us on a diet primarily of canned goods.

My sister and I complained by my parents were stern about the choice.

Soon we found out why.

The water we had used for many years to water the crops was slightly radiated. Over time people got sick. Some would die of a fever or dehydration from emesis. Other began to turn into these creatures so it seemed.

/Creatures?/

Today we call them Ghouls.

What was lovely was that nothing changed about them. They were still kind and nice people but my parents were terrified that if we stayed, they would want to eat or flesh.

Many of these people were my friends. People I had grown up with. I had no doubt in my mind that we would have thrived longer if we had just remained but my parents insisted we leave and find home elsewhere.

By this time I was in my early twenties. I had fallen in love with a man who had been a traveling trader. My family had resettled by the ocean in a place where only 'normals' lived. The man would come once a week and trade goods with my father. One day he asked if he could marry me and my father accepted the idea.

We were wed in the early spring of that year.

We decided to make a life for us elsewhere. We chose a beach several miles away not on the ocean as my parents were but on a nice small lake. Once a month we would travel down to visit my parents and exchange needed supplies.

We tried for many years to have children but it wasn't in God's plan. So, Lyle and I just had each other. That was fine.

Every morning he'd wake up and go for a morning swim. I was never a strong swimmer but I had grown up near bodies of water so being there relaxed me. He'd come in and I'd fix us breakfast. He'd go off and trade for the day and I'd stay at home and manage the house. For many long years we enjoyed this lifestyle.

I was blind to notice. The change was so gradual. My parents were always commenting on it every time we visited because we only saw them once a month.

Lyle was changing just as my old vault dwellers had. His skin was getting paler. His eyes were getting cloudy. Eventually my parents said they didn't want us coming around anymore.

That was a very sad time. I loved my family but I loved my husband more.

As the years progressed his change intensified. He had stopped swimming in the lake. We found out many years too late it had been slightly irradiated just as the water we had used to water the crops had been back in the village.

As I said, it was too late to stop the change.

What was different about Lyle as oppose to my old friends had been in the last weeks of his change, he became increasingly violent. Not to me all the time but to the work he did and the animals we kept.

Those who had chosen to live near us on out lake demanded we leave the area. They said Lyle was a growing danger. We had no choice. We left it all one night and never looked back. That's when we settled here. Lyle loved the lake and even though he dared not swim in it, as it had for me, it calmed him to be near water.

No amount of water would calm him though. When the change finally did happen he was no longer the sweet man I had fallen in love with. He was violent and erratic. Still, I loved him. I had no choice but to keep him in the cage he constructed. It had been his idea when he noticed his sickness getting worse.

I told him I would love him no matter what and I have kept my promise.

/More banging comes from the other room/

Would you like to meet him?

/I, uh... She leads me to the living room where a large crafted cage towers in the center of the room. The TV is on but the Ghoul insides eyes are locked on us. He thrashes violently out trying to snag us. He lashes with his teeth and I take a step back wondering just how strong that cage is./

I assure you he is completely harmless. He quite enjoys when I put his programs on the television. I'll sit beside him and watch in the evenings. He gets half a chicken every day so he doesn't go hungry.

I love my husband and I know people think I am crazy for all this but when you're in love. You'll hold onto that person as the vows say, in sickness and in health.

/The creature begins to gnaw at the cage./

I hold onto the idea that maybe one day, they will find a cure for him and he and I can go traveling together. For now, this is as good as it gets for us. I am happy. He keeps me company. I love him.

/What will you do when you can no longer look after him? When age takes you knowing that he will live for much longer?/

I have started taking bathes in the lake. I am hoping I have enough time left to allow for the change to take place in my body too. That way we can be together forever. If I run out of time, I suppose I'll let him be free. Let him do what he thinks he needs to do. Either way I'll be a part of him and he a part of me forever.

/It's time for me to go. I smile to the old lady and take my leave. I think I am going to take some time off and spend some time with my girlfriend./


	6. Crazy Wolfgang

**A/N - As requested. I have put in a trader! It will be some time before we get some stories from FO:NV but for now I have a traveling merchant from the capital wasteland. Might have to wait a bit for the super mutant interview. I need to really think that one out to give it proper justice. –**

_I was crossing the capital wasteland one afternoon when I noticed a traveling pack off in the distance. Seeing the Brahmin I knew instantly it was a traveling merchant. I was in Raider country so a little bit of added protection was welcome._

_The merchant had no issue with me tagging along. In that time we were able to discuss a few things about his occupation. I'll be honest, I didn't think I'd find the stories of a traveling merchant to be all the interesting but I was pleasantly surprised. _

_This man, one Crazy Wolfgang as he asked me to call him, certainly had seen a lot. As he talked, I wrote. _

_-XXX-_

Where I came from and the man I was before is of very little interest. To be perfectly honest, to even discuss it would probably put you to sleep.

It's all about the traveling and selling of my precious junk now.

/How did you get the name Crazy Wolfgang?/

It's all a brilliant marketing ploy. I have so many odds and ends that people would find useless. If I didn't talk up the merchandise with eccentric tactics, no one would buy from me. People love it when I refer to my stuff as rubbish, garbage and junk. I don't know why but it works.

/What's a typical day for you?/

Life can be sweet and scary at the same time. You really don't answer to anyone and you take account for all your doings.

I wake up at the crack of dawn. I try to avoid traveling at night just because it's hard to see the dangers out there. If we do need to travel, we will.

From there it's where ever I'm needed. I take requests from all over the capital wastelands. I can't be picky who I sell to though. It's not my place to be prejudice towards anyone or what they do to make ends meet out here. Some of my top clientele are the slavers of Paradise Falls.

Keeping them happy and their weapons working means if they see me running towards them with a super mutty on my tail, they shoot the mutty and leave me alive. That's kind of how I see it. We are all just doing something to keep us alive.

My morning consists of the days drops and repairs. I try and use the afternoon to search a few places and find hidden gems. I tell you, I'm a modern day tomb raider. All these rundown buildings are teaming with treasure waiting to be snatched and sold for an reasonable price.

It doesn't come without the dangers though. We in the trading business have a mutual respect of finders keepers but try explaining that to the raiders or the Brotherhood of Steel. If you find anything they want, it's fair game to be taken off your hands.

At least the Brotherhood will take it off your hands for a couple of other items. They think they are entitled to every piece of technology around. If I come across a few of their bodies out in the wastes, of course I'm going to strip it of anything useful. What good is it on a dead body? The Brotherhood don't like that so much. If they find me with any of their power armour, they snatch it right back.

The Raiders though, they will skin you alive if you put up a fight. Sometimes you're better off to cut your losses then retaliate.

My last guard died four months ago in a little shoot out with some Raiders. Good man. He was with me for nearly three years.

We were on our way to Megaton from Arefu when we got too close to that house off the road. We were in a full on ambush. We were able to seek cover from the incoming fire but there was no escaping the dogs they sent after us.

The pack Brahmin and I took off like bats out of hell but Micky, the guard tried to return fire to give us cover during our retreat. I wanted to go back for him but when those dogs got on him, there was nothing I could do. They tore the poor man to shreds and all I could do was keep running while his screams got quieter and quieter.

From that day on I now carry my own weapon. I didn't use to just cause I never had a good shot and I don't really like the idea of guns but I won't let someone protect my ass without me being able to protect theirs.

/Have you had a lot of close calls?/

I was taken as a hostage once by a gang of super mutants to the north up by the old police headquarters. That was pretty scary. There were three of us taken; me and two slaves who escaped from Paradise Falls.

I count myself lucky every day that the super mutants filled themselves up on my two hostage comrades that they took no interest in me that night. I was able to free myself and make my escape before morning.

I know it's horrible to say I was lucky while the two other got made into stew that night but that's just how the wasteland is. If it's your day to die then so be it.

/What's your Brahmin's name?/

I call the left one Rachel and the right Sarah. I gave her a human names so I would have a closer attachment with her. She's the only woman I need in my life right now. Had her since she was just a young thing. Skinny and sickly looking creature. I nursed her to a healthy state despite everyone telling me I was nuts. I am used to that though!

She's been with me from the get go. Don't tell the guard this but if it came down to him or her, I'd save her. Ha ha!

/You have no desire to settle down?/

It's not in the deck of cards right now buddy. I'm at the top of my game. The cash is good and I enjoy never being in the same place. Maybe if I meet that lucky lady someday I'll change my mind. Who knows, maybe we'll have lots of kids and start a family business. That's actually not a bad idea!

For now, I'll just stick with this. Plus, I would hate to make Rachel and Sarah jealous with another woman.

/We are nearing Evergreen Mills. I have no idea where I am but this place looks very unappealing./

This group of Raiders and I are on mutual terms. They need my crap to sustain a life out there. I'm afraid we must part here. They know not to shoot me but I can't promise your safety. Just peel off the trail here and head south. You'll get to your next destination in no time!

/I thank Wolfgang and do exactly that./


	7. Agatha Egglebrecht

_The sound grows louder as I near the radio tower marking my map. I cross the rickety bridge and the sound takes me. Never have I heard such a noise. To call it noise is insulting. It's more like a hymn made by something I can't place. I am snapped back to reality when my knocking at the front door halts the performance. _

_An elderly woman in her seventies answers the door. She is holding something I have never seen before. It looks to be made of wood. As I look closer I see 4 thin strings.  
><em>

_Agatha __Egglebrecht contacted me through a courier. She said I should come and pay her a visit and listen to her play some music. When I first received the letter I dismissed the idea. I didn't really see the value in music anymore. Not in this world._

_I realize now how wrong I was. _

_-XXX-_

So glad you made! it Please come in. I was worried you wouldn't be interested in coming to see an old lady and her violin out in the wastes. Thought maybe it wouldn't be book worthy.

/Violin?/

You've never head or seen one? I suppose they are quite rare. I made this one myself. Music has been in my blood for many generations.

No one taught me. I really had to learn it for myself but like I said, it's in my blood. My great-great granddaughter was the prodigy Hilda Egglebrecht, one of the greatest violinists of her time. She had been selected as a resident for Vault 92. I really wish I knew more about her – or what came of that violin she kept closer to her heart than anything,

My husband and I settled here when we were very young. We were married when we were pretty much kids. He was a good man. Built this entire shelter for us. We isolated ourselves out here but that was fine. We didn't need anyone else. We had each other.

When he died it meant things had to change for me. I had to rely on others for assistance, something I had never done. That's when the caravans began making a stop her on their routes.

Much of what I play I write myself but if one of the traveling caravans happens to come across some sheet music, they know to snatch it up for me.

They are the real heroes out there. They keep me alive out here in my tiny spot of paradise. I repay them the only way I can. With music. I must admit I have a bit of a crush on that nice young man, Crow. He is particularly kind to me. Always gives me a little extra if I play his favourite songs. I make sure to play them when I know he is doing his weekly run.

I do these radio broadcasts throughout the day. They can be heard throughout the Capitol Wasteland. It's how I contribute, you know? I'm not saying what Three-Dog or that President Eden have to say is less important or that what I do is better, I am simply catering to a different need in people's lives, a need to rekindle our passion for the arts.

There is so much killing out there. People need something other then the clatter of bullets or screams of terror. They need music. Real music.

I remind everyone out there where we came from. Remind them of their humanity. We were once sophisticated beings with the power to create, not just destroy. That's what I do. That's how I contribute.

Look at me. Rambling on like my story is so fascinating. What I bet you want is to hear me play.

/She cradles the instrument under her chin and lifts some sort of roped stick to its strings.

The sound is enchanting. I am in a trance. The radio signals that play the same few songs over and over cannot compare to what I am hearing. With each note I am carried far away from this dreaded hellhole. I am mesmerized. Captivated. I never want her to stop playing. One moment, the drawn out notes fill the room with sorrow and I swear the instrument is crying. Then, the tune picks up and I find myself tapping my foot and smiling as she is. I have no idea how much time has passed but when she stops, I want to call out for more but I hold myself back. She looks a bit tired./

I can usually carry on for longer but I have been playing all day. I am a little worn out.

/I watch Agatha sigh. Is something wrong? I ask/

This here violin has been with me for many many years but I'm afraid it wont be very good for much longer. Can't keep the darn thing in tune. One day, I hope to get ahold of my great-great granddaughters violin … the one in Vault 92. I know it must still be there. I bet I can make the divines cry if I had that instrument.

/I can tell the elderly woman is getting tired and is too polite to ask me to leave so I rise from my chair. I thank her for the personal concert and open to the door. Before I leave she takes my hand in hers./

Don't let the music in your heart die. Music can be whatever you create … so long as it's yours to share.

/I don't full understand but I smile and thank her once more before I leave./


	8. Paladin Ross

_I had written the Brotherhood Of Steel in the D.C. ruins asking if they'd be willing to nominate someone in their faction to be interviewed for my book. The response I got was on a professional letterhead with the official seal of Sentinel Lyons himself._

_The document had only two typed words on it. Not even words – a name. Lisi Ross._

_I traveled to the Citadel under escort of a few mercenaries. I was thankful to make it in one piece. When I arrived I was directed to sit underneath some hasty cam, out of the sun, at a make shift patio table set close enough that I could watch the new initiates be put through the ringer._

_A slender blonde female walked towards me. She looked as though she'd just come from a lengthy run or intense work out. She was clad in some very short running shorts and a tightly fitting black sports bra. I may regret writing this due to fear my girlfriend will dump me but I was certainly caught off guard by the attractive young woman who was now sitting across from me with a stoic expression._

-XXX-

I was told to come speak to you.

/I'm sorry. Did they not give you notice I was coming today?/

No.

/Did your superiors tell you anything?/

Only that you want to know my life story or something. I hardly see what's worth knowing about me. Why anyone would want my words in a book is beyond my logic.

/Perhaps you can start off by telling me who you are exactly? That may set the tone./

Whatever. My name is Medic Paladin Lisi Ross. Lisi is just a nickname and no, I don't tell people my real name. I was named after my great great great … might be some more greats in there … grandmother. She was some hero in what was Western Canada.

My mother and father were both Doctors in a Ghoul refugee camp near Ronto trying to come up with a cure for "Ghoulification."

I was fifteen when radicals terrorized my home. Fucking Ghoul haters. Thought what my parents were doing was a crime against God or something. They killed my parents and slaughtered everyone in the camp. I was the only survivor cause some sick pedophile fuck took a liking to me if you know what I mean.

My skills in the field of medicine were something of value too. The daughter of two doctors certainly learned a lot when aiding in their efforts to help the sick, injured or dying.

"Daddy" … or so my newly adopted guardian made me call him … made sure I treated any of the battered up murderers who came sulking back to our camp.

I was disgusted in myself, but went on for a year. I tried to kill myself twice and failed each time. I just couldn't finish myself off in the end. I'm thankful now that I lived cause how I avenged my parents and those innocent Ghouls of the refugee camp is just about the only thing I'm proud of.

The radicals were like and extermination squad. They migrated from place to place killing anything that wasn't human. We were near D.C. when I was allowed to tag along on a supply run to clean out an abandoned hospital. In my search for supplies I came across something I thought I'd never see. In a climate-controlled refrigerator I found vials and vials of synthetic Insulin.

Those with any degree of medical knowledge know that Insulin is a naturally occurring hormone secreted by our pancreas to aid with digestion. I suppose I'll dumb it down for your readers. Insulin breaks down glucose … sugar. Sugar is what feeds your brain. Too much insulin in your body means no more sugar. No more sugar means brain starves and dies. It's rather quick too. Best part is there is no evidence except a tiny needle mark – if they can find it. The body metabolizes all the insulin too so there really is no way to tell cause of death.

People began dying and no one knew why. The other medical personnel were dumbfounded. I'd get them while they slept. They never felt my tiny needle pierce their skin. Never woke up. Soon there were only a handful of extremists left. Daddy began to panic and thought a plague was killing everyone.

Next thing you know, they're all killing each other thinking some infection was going around. After a few hours the slaughter was over and Daddy and I were the only ones left. He was certain I would be able to come up with a cure. I assured him I had a solution and next thing you know – the fucker is rolling up his sleeve ready to take whatever shot I was going to give.

How stupid could you possibly be?

Within minutes he began acting like an idiot. That's what happens. Your brain becomes starved of glucose and you act like a violent fool. I was able to hide while the drug took effect and soon, he was unconscious. I wish I could have made his death a little more elaborate but I'm not one for theatrics.

Suddenly I was free and with absolutely no direction whatsoever. I had very little survival skills apart from a bitter attitude and my semi advance medical knowledge. It was enough to keep me alive for another year of wandering the wastes.

During one of my scavenging missions I came across a wounded Brotherhood of Steel Knight. He was very badly injured and had been separated from his team when Super Mutants had attacked. I never showed pity on anyone since I'd been taken away from my family until now.

I suppressed the desire to slit his throat, take his power armour and move on but instead I treated his wounds. He was way too unstable to be moved so I stayed with him and monitored his progress.

On day one I told him the odds of survival were unlikely. He tried talking to me but I wouldn't say much back. I didn't want to get to know him. I figured he'd be dead soon and my conscious clear that I had done all I could. I thought for sure he was dead the next morning when I looked over and saw his eyes were closed but then I saw his chest rise and fall. Some how he had lived.

Day two was the worst. He developed a really bad fever and I was running low on anti-pyretic medication. He started to hallucinate and I had to sit beside him and talk to him the whole time so he didn't lose sight of himself. It was pretty awkward. There came a point when I started to just make up stories cause I couldn't think of anything else to say.

By day three his fever had broke and his wounds looked to be healing nicely. I let him stabilize before I attempted to move him. He told me of a place nearby where he was from. A place called The Citadel and that we should go there. When we got to the Citadel, the Brotherhood offered me a position amongst them almost instantly when they heard what I had done for one of their own.

I was reluctant at first but something made me want to stay.

/Paladin Ross looks over her shoulder in the direction of a young man walking towards us. He introduces himself as Paladin Glade and stands behind Ross.

"She tell you how she saved my life? Scooped me up out there in the wastes when no one was coming back for me?" he tells me. I smile and nod.

Ross just rolls her eyes./

As I was saying. This is my home now. I make sure everyone comes back not just with all their limbs but their lives as well. I go out there with them just as any other member of the team. If some one gets hurt, they scream for me.

/At that moment, Paladin Glade speaks up again. He explains how Ross is needed as there is some wounded who need their dressings changed. Ross stands up, apologizes that our interview has to be cut short and politely excuses herself. As the two of them walk away I notice when they think no one is looking, Ross slips her hand into that of Paladin Glades and the two embrace in a short kiss before disappearing into the medical building.

I can't help but smile a little./


	9. Unknown

**- Authors Note: Hey everyone! Glad to be writing again for Fallout. Hope you all like the new chapters I've been posting lately. Remember, I take requests. Having issues with a super mutant but bare with me. R/R! -**

_I am in Rivet City's Market stocking up on some supplies to make dinner for tonight when I see an unusual sight – even by today's standards._

_An extremely skinny figure is purchasing some items at A Quick Fix. I assume by the frame of this person that they must be female. She wears a tattered Wastelander outfit but her entire body is wrapped in thick bandages. When she turns and walks by me I imagine she must be a Ghoul too ashamed to be seen. Through the slit in her bandages, our eyes meet and I am caught off guard by the vibrant red glaring at me unlike any Ghoul I've ever seen. _

_I am instantly drawn in and I try to politely get her attention. I explain what I am doing. She looks nervous and her eyes dart around as if some one is watching. I assure her I mean her no harm and that I wont use her real name. I offer to share my dinner with her if she'll sit down and talk to me for a bit. _

_She must not have eaten in days because that seemed to win her over. _

_We sit in the corner of the Market and I listen to her story._

-XXX-

I came from a place called The Pitt. It's far north of here and impossible to access, even more so to escape. It's a place where people are forced into slavery to mine for ore or scrap metal to be extracted and smelted into steel.

The Raiders who enforce the work are cruel and sadistic. There's no rest and if you can't keep up, they kill you plain and simple.

That's not even the worst of it. The entire place is highly contaminated by radiation and god knows what else.

Exposure to all the contaminants results in an infection of some sort. It starts with a fever that never goes away. Then skin lesions develop. Those lucky enough to get out of the highly radiated areas usually get better over time but for those stuck in the foulest of it go downhill fast.

The worst is when your skin literally looks as though it's melting off your bones. The eschar is disgusting. Your wounds ooze and pus with infection and you just wish you would die.

/People don't just die?/

Isn't that weird? No, they don't die. If you're lucky, you keep your sanity but for the poor souls who's brains become so intoxicated, they tragically lose all sense of self and reason. We call them "Trogs."

/That sounds like feral ghouls./

They may seem similar but I assure you there is a difference. Ghouls are just highly irradiated creatures. The radiation cooks the brain and leaves them feral. Those who's contamination level was lower turn into the "friendlier" Ghouls we often encounter. Every noxious substance known to man infects Trogs and I am sure there are a few left to be discovered.

The disease is known as Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion or TDC for short. There is no cure for infection. Once you're past the point of no return you become this hairless, gangly hunched over creature that lunges at its victims with deadly force.

Their body is mutated past the point of human recognition. They move on all fours and lunge at you with elongated legs and arms.

On a positive note, they hate the light so floodlights are used to keep them on the outskirts of The Pitt however, that doesn't keep them from tormenting our nightmares. One of the fun tasks in the Pitt is collecting Steel out in the steelyard.

Various ingots lay just outside the "protection" of the guards and once a week, one of us goes out there to find some. Usually, those who are so sick and know their days are numbered venture out there. It's like a common courtesy for those of us still surviving. They almost always end up as a sacrifice.

At night I would often wonder what would be worse, being torn apart by Trogs or thrown into the Arena, a place where slaves are forced to fight with a slim chance to gain their freedom. Slaves called it the Hole.

/They have a gladiator pit?/

Sick isn't it? You know you've lost all status as a human being when you're literally being forced to fight to the death like animals for the amusement of those who put themselves above you.

I lost my brother in there. He was the strongest and toughest of all us slaves but he lost in the third round to a raider by the name of Bingo. Bingo was undefeated for years. I don't know what my brother was thinking. Usually only those who are the most deranged from infection volunteer to fight in The Hole but my brother was healthy and fit. I really think he felt he had a chance.

I watched as Bingo toyed with my brother the entire time. Taunting and teasing. Bingo let my brother hack and slash away with his little trench knife before he opened up with his flamer and cooked my brother alive in seconds as I watched in horror and disbelief. Man, I hope that fucker's dead by now.

So, between the Pitt Raiders, the levels of radiation and god knows what else, the tireless work, the threat of infection and lack of human decency … its not that bad of a place.

I thought the Scourge would have been the turning point for us but I was wrong. Still, things are mildly better.

/The Scourge?/

A massive attack lead by some big shot from the Brotherhood of Steel. They came in the night and lay waste to just about all the Pitt Raiders. I thought we'd be saved but instead they told us we were free and left us with no direction. To make matters worse, they took all the uninfected children including my youngest sister with them.

I think they figured they were our saviors but truth is, we had no idea what to do with our newfound freedom. We became violent and hostile towards our fellow former slaves. One of the Brotherhood chose to remain to 'keep and eye' on us and make sure we did no more harm to ourselves.

At first we welcomed the idea of one responsible for liberating us as our leader. That was until he revealed his true nature in time. It wasn't long before things went back to the way they were. The only real difference was that he faked that he cared.

/And Bingo survived the Scourge?/

Some how he made it through but he was never really the same after that. I know he had a sister who worked as a guard too. I think she was killed when The Brotherhood stormed in. Karma's a bitch. I think that's why The Brotherhood asshole took pity on him and let him stick around .. that and he was still useful as a suppressor I suppose.

I managed to get away before the crackdown, a time when they closed the gates to the Pitt only to never open them again. Then they lay mines on the bridge into the city and let feral dogs roam the streets.

I came across on a rail car with the intent of finding my sister. I was told the Brotherhood is set up near here. I know she's with them.

It hasn't been easy. People see me and from a distance, think I am a Ghoul. That is until they see me close up and realize I am something much worse. They scream, run or shoot at me. No one asks questions. People may not accept Ghouls but they are use to seeing them. I on the other hand don't have this luxury.

I keep myself bandaged up and tell people I was an incendiary blast that has left my body deformed and charred. This seems to work and no one asks questions. If anything it draws out some sympathy.

/What will you do if you find your sisters?/

When I find my sister.

/I'm sorry?/

When. You said if. I will find her.

/I'm sorry, I didn't even realize I…./

It's fine. What I haven't told you is that my days are limited. My infection is getting worse and it's only a matter of time before I become a Trog. I just want to see my sister. Hold her one last time and tell her I love her. Then I'll probably just find a quiet place and eat my gun. Seems like the logical thing to do.

/I swallow the lump in my throat hard./

Sorry to make this suddenly awkward. That's the inevitable and I accept it.

/Is there anything I can do?/

For me? No. But if you write my story maybe, just maybe some one will be able to fix what's happened out there to those people. No one deserves the life they lead.

I really should get going. Thanks for listening to me.

/With that, she gets up and leaves Rivet City. I am left in a stunned silence. That had to be my hardest interview yet and deep down and truly wish she finds her sister./


	10. Michael Masters

_I have to admit, ghouls frighten me a little. It's not that I haven't met descent Ghouls since I began writing my book, it's just that my parents use to use the images of zombie people to keep me from venturing to far from our home when I was a boy. It was a crude yet effective tactic. _

_Needless to say my nightmares turned reality when I encountered my first ghoul at the age of 19 when I did eventually leave my parents home and ventured towards D.C. with a friend of mine. The Ghoul had been a feral and attacked us on sight. We were lucky to subdue the creature with what little weaponry we possessed. It was a few weeks later I would come across a friendly Ghoul. This took me by surprise. _

_Overtime I tried to overcome my discomfort with their presence. It wasn't until recently that I decided to put my anxiety behind me and interview one for the book. _

_During my interview with Susan Lancaster at Tenpenny Towers , she had mentioned a group that wished to be a part of the upper class. I thought it was in the book's best interest to track down this group and get an interview. _

_I gathered a couple mercenaries and went to Warrington Station. The place was overrun with ferals but in time we were able to come into contact with a group of friendly Ghouls living amongst the ferals._

_My intent was to interview a man by the name of Roy Phillips but he wouldn't give me the time of day. Instead, I managed to get a man by the name of Michael Masters to talk to me. _

-XXX-

One thing I want to make clear is that I wasn't always like this. I was an electronic and biological engineer working out of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention, or CDC.

I had made a pretty good life for my family in Georgia. We had family up near D.C. so in the summers we'd pile into the family van to visit them. Some of my fondest pre-war memories were vacationing at Tenpenny Towers. Back then it was some other fancy named hotel. I find it ironic that I use to vacation there and now I can't even get passed the front gate.

In the time I worked at the CDC, my talent was noticed, and I was asked to work for West Tek and one of their development teams.

The money was good so I convinced my wife to pack up our home and move with our two kids to a research facility out West.

In case you're wondering, this was quite a long time ago, before the bombs fell.

It was at West Tek that we began researching a new agent called Pan-Immunity Virion Project or PVP. The concept was to come up with something that would protect troops on the front line from the threat of biological weapons used by the Chinese.

The result of our human experiment was … unique. The agent was a success but it came at a cost. People began to change, or mutate. In some test subjects, the exposure to PVP proved lethal.

We thought our work would be squashed instantly but out of the blue, some military types showed up and confiscated all our samples of the PVP.

Once again I was offered more money if I was willing to move my family once more to a place called the Mariposa Military Base in California to continue research on the PVP.

/How did your family take to the idea of moving again?/

This was the straw that broke the camels back. My wife was already struggling with our new life and the kids were doing poorly in their new school. In the end, I went alone to the base in California while my family remained in our location trying to recover from my last decision to move us.

The military chose to rename the PVP to the FEV project. That's when things became too much for me. I had once worked on cures to better humanity but this was something totally different. This was messing with nature on a whole new level and I didn't agree with it. After just a few months at Maiposa, I handed in my terms of release and returned to be with my family. It's a damn good thing I did because news of what happened to that placed reached my ears a few months after I left. As it turns out, many of my fellow staff had been executed once the base commander found out what was really going on in his basements.

My wife and kids were still struggling with life out West so I thought it best for us to just go back to our old life. But life has a funny way of biting you in the ass. The following day, the bombs began to fall.

I don't know how it all played out. I can't remember a single thing from that day. My earliest memory comes months, maybe years after. I can't even remember what happened to my family. All I can remember is ending up in the D.C. ruins and seeing that old classy hotel tower standing out like a beckon in this hellhole.

That brought about memories from my past, before the bombs fell and I started to remember who I was. Even as I drank from the radiated streams and saw the monster I had become on the outside, I never lost sight of whom I really was.

I wandered out in the wastes for an unknown amount of time. Bigots who couldn't tell me apart from the ferals shot me at almost daily. Can't say I really blame them. The only place I really felt safe was with my own kind but no one really lingered more than a few weeks. I sought some solace down in the metro tunnels with the ferals. They left me alone and offered some protection of a raider or wastelander decided to venture too far into the darkness.

It was in the metro tunnels that I met Roy. Thank God he came along too cause I had been contemplating ending my miserable life earlier that morning. I took to his "no bullshit" attitude quite immediately. He must have seen something in me too cause next thing I knew he was putting a rifle in my hand and we were traveling together.

/Roy seems like a very …intense individual. Why this obsession with Tenpenny Tower?/

It's really my fault. One night I told him about my vacation days there. That seemed to stir something up inside him because he became fixated on getting us into that place with all the other smoothskins. I had to admit, the idea was appealing at first but rejection after rejection takes its toll and I found myself asking, do I really want to live civilly with these people?

To this day, Roy insists it's our right to be there. I really don't question his desire or motivation. Yes, I think he's become obsessed but I believe the man has his reasons. Perhaps he's felt an injustice in being a ghoul far worse than I ever have.

/What's your opinion on the matter?/

Personally, I think this is karma catching up with me. I took God's creation of man and turned them into a monster. God finally caught up with me and got his revenge. Guess he's having the last laugh.


	11. Rad Thompson

_While on my way to my next interview I was stung by a radscorpion and had a severe allergic reaction. Thank God the mercenaries I hired for my protection were fast acting and rushed me to the nearest clinic, which happened to be situated in Megaton. Doc Church was quick to hit me with a few milligrams of epinephrine, which certainly saved my life._

_While in recovery I was in a cot next to another young man who appeared to be strapped down to his own bed._

_The man was wide-eyed and sweating profusely. I asked him if he was all right to which there was no reply._

_Doc Church heard me trying to make conversation with my roommate and informed me that the man was suffering from severe Jet overdose. A traveling caravan had found him unconscious out near Springvale and brought him to the clinic.  
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_I chose to spend the remainder of my stay in silence. When I woke the following morning, my strung out friend was gone. Doc Church said he had slipped his restraints and ran off some time in the night._

_I thought nothing of it for a few more days until I happened across the man taking up shelter in a run down house in Springvale. I couldn't pass up and opportunity to converse with a junkie out in the wastes._

_At first I thought he would be defensive about my questions but he seemed keen to share his story with me._

_From a distance, he just seems like another emaciated Wastelander trying to get by but when you get closer, you can see the terrible acne all over his skin. He looks to be about forty despite telling me he's only 28. His eyes are sunken in and his wrinkles more pronounced. He is unusually pale and he definitely doesn't maintain any degree of personal hygiene even by today's standards. His dark red hair is matted, unkempt and hangs just at chin length. He is missing a couple teeth and spits when he talks._

_This is truly a man who lets a drug control every aspect of his life._

**-XXX-**

My name is Rad Thompson. Don't ask how I got the name. I grey up in Grayditch with my mother. She'd go off for weeks on end whoring herself out to any man that would pay her to spread her legs and leave me alone to fend for myself. This is how it was for as long as I can remember. I'd be all alone and she'd disappear. A few neighbours took pity on me and would bring me food to make sure I didn't starve to death, but that's as far as anyone's generosity ever went.

When I was 13, I went into her bedroom while she slept next to a man I didn't know. I went into her closet looking for anything I could sell for food. That's when I found the little orange canister of jet. I had seen her take it so many times so it's effects were nothing new to me but curiosity can be a powerful thing on a 13 year old boy.

/While he talks, Rad is mixing together his own ingredients. The smell is overwhelming but I keep quiet./

I went back downstairs and sat on the edge of the couch which also acted as my bed. I put the inhaler in my mouth and sucked it in. At first I was terrified. I began to shake, sweat and my heart was racing. Then, I was hit with this surge of energy and suddenly, I wanted to do things. Random things. Things that made no sense. That night, I went out into the wastes and ran. I have no idea where I was going or why but I just wanted to run. It was late morning when I got home.

The first thing my mom did when I walked in the front door was smack me so hard upside the head. She told me to get the hell out of her house and never come back.

So I did.

I wandered the wastes until I was picked up by a band of raiders out near the school here in Springvale. Things got fucking awesome. They had more drugs then I knew what to do with. The trips were limitless.

/Rad has now mixed his contents and puts them in his inhaler. "Don't worry. I'll still be able to talk," he assures me as he sucks back the contents./

Where was I? Oh ya! So I am doing every kind of drug there is with these people: Jet, Mentats, Buffout you name it, I was taking it. I was too young to go out and kill people so they left me to make supplies for them … more drugs. My little hands made me good at it.

When I was 14 me and one of the other raiders in our party got so high we actually fucked. She was in her twenties I think. Best sex I ever had. Sure it only lasted a few seconds but fuck, that first time was incredible! After that, all I wanted to do was drugs and fuck any girl that would let me stick my dick in her.

/I cough./

Sorry… too much detail? I'll tame it a little. What was I saying again? Something about sex and ….. fuck…

Anyways, as the years went on the raider group I was with started to expect more of me. They wanted me to start leaving the school with them. I was a junkie. I wasn't a killer. I never shot a gun a day in my life. I tried to tell them that but they got pretty pissed off with me. I was also using more drugs then anyone. I guess they felt I wasn't contributing enough so they kicked me out.

So there I was out in the wastes yet again wondering where the hell I was going to get my next fix. I had no caps, no supplies, and no one gave a shit about me.

I ended up where you find me today. No one was living in this little piece of shit shack so I claimed it for my own. No one bothers me here, not even my old friends from the school. I am close enough to their spot that no one comes over here out of fear they'll be shot up. They leave me alone cause I still retain my skills to craft some interesting mixes I sell to them from time to time.

/Rad has now started to scratch his arm repeatedly. Before I couldn't see the extent of the damage because of the sleeves from his outfit but as he rolled them up to relieve the itch, I noticed the mutilation.

Deep wounds on both arms are gruesome looking. It's evident he does this often. Some of the abrasions are at various stages of healing while newer, fresher wounds remain openly bleeding and dripping with pus./

My … uh …. habit costs a lot of caps. I have to do some pretty … fucked up things…. to get my fix.

I've had to go ….. places. Dangerous places. Supplies are hard to find.

Sometimes I do things. There are a lot of fucked up people out there. People who will pay me.

/Pay you for what?/

Whatever they want.

/Such as?/

WHATEVER DUDE!

Last month. I found a dead Brahmin. It had been dead for a couple days. I …. I cut it open …

/Rad stops and looks around the room with wide, dilated eyes./

What was I talking about?

/"Cutting open a Brahmin."/

Right! I cut it open to extract the shit … from its guts. That's how I was able to get one ingredient. Some times I steal from people's …. homes when they leave. I'm very good at picking locks.

/Rad's sweating is getting a bit alarming. His hands are shaking. He wont stop jerking his head and looking around the house. "Are you ok?" I ask./

Yeah, just fine. Why? What's wrong? Did I do something? What the fuck dude! FUCK YOU!

/Rad is growing increasingly unpredictable and I worry he may get violent with me. I thank him politely for his time and show myself out the door. If there was ever a time in my past I was curious about trying some of the drugs of the wastes, I am certainly glad now that I never gave in to such curiosity./


End file.
